Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 7 of 12)

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July 17

July 17

Was last night a dream? I was hoping so, but then I rolled over in bed and saw Lauryn sprawled out on the couch, covering herself with the Scottish poncho I stole from Walt Disney World. Fuck. Here we go.

The biggest problem with all of this drama – for me, at least – was that I was in the direct line of fire. On one side I had Phillip, who was no doubt fuming at this point. On the other side I had Lauryn, who was now staying at my house and who I was going to have to try and console. How do you use your standard “men are scum” lines to cheer up your girlfriend when the man in question is your brother? It wasn’t going to work, nor should it have. I didn’t think that either party was in the right.

As far as I was concerned, Lauryn was at fault because she had contradicted her views and opinions on sex. You can’t tell someone you’re sleeping with that you believe in free sexual exploration and multiple partners for all, and then get upset when that person takes said action(s) upon themselves. On Phillip’s side, I thought it was in extremely poor taste of him to have another girl in his room in front of Lauryn. There was a history of affection and sexual activity between the two of them. It was slimy.

Lauryn spent the better part of the morning bitching about Phillip, which was very uncomfortable for me. The biggest thing Lauryn was upset about – or at least, one of the bigger things – was that Phillip had grabbed her arm when he told her to leave. I didn’t see that happen, because I had purposely removed myself from the verbal throw down that was happening inside the house. I’m not saying it didn’t happen, but how was I supposed to respond to that kind of accusation?

In my attempt to console Lauryn, I caught myself about to share some information on Phillip. I quickly shut that down. I felt like I was betraying my brother. Do I know if Phillip grabbed Lauryn? I have no idea. Either way, it wasn’t my place to comment on it. I shouldn’t have been put in the middle like that.

I told Lauryn that she could vent about whatever she wanted, but that I couldn’t comment on it anymore. After that, Lauryn calmed down and didn’t bring up Phillip much again. Although, she did take some of the videos we made this morning and put them on her Instagram with captions directed towards Phillip, which was unacceptable. I would only learn about this later, as I wasn’t scrolling through my social media feed in anticipation of my brother’s inevitable hate mail.

As I walked around the Witch Cave – picking up the stray wigs and empty glasses of alcohol that always seem to find their way to the coffee table whenever I have a friend over – I noticed the bottle of champagne that Lauryn had taken back from Phillip last night. I completely overdid it on those new gin drinks yesterday. In addition to the diabetes I was sure I now had, I was also suffering from a pounding headache and a hangover that desperately needed curing.

“Have you ever heard of the hair of the dog?” I asked Lauryn.

“Like, when you have a drink to cure a hangover?” she asked.

“Yeah. Want to test that hypothesis?” I offered, holding up the bottle of champagne.

Lauryn was game. I poured us each a flute. However, that one drink quickly turned into a full bottle of champagne and a large beer. I ended up skipping right past my hangover, and into full-on drunk mode by 11 a.m.

Now in the mood for potatoes, we decided that brunch was absolutely necessary and left the Witch Cave. There was a wait at Smith in the Village, so Lauryn picked up a pack of cigarettes at the corner store and we squatted on the curb, each of us smoking and talking like characters from The Nanny. To be honest, I complain about the messiness of the Village far too often for someone who fits in perfectly. Hot mess alert!

The mess continued long after we were finally seated. I’m now at a point with men where I can’t even get my waiter to commit to serving me through an entire meal. It might be due to harassment, but it’s not like I wasn’t going to tip the guy. After not falling for my, “You should meet my friend Kurt. He’s 6’2”, blonde hair, really handsome,” joke, our waiter had abandoned us. Unbelievable. Then, when I tried to give my phone number to our replacement waiter, he wouldn’t even punch my digits into the debit card machine. The audacity!

I told Lauryn that I would only go to brunch if she paid for my meal. Once she settled up the bill and we finished our drinks – as if we needed more – we returned to the Witch Cave for a short rest.

In the mood to harass more men, I gave Lucas Ingraldi a call. Lauryn and I had plans to go to Trinity Bellwoods Park and work on a pitch for her new YouTube show, which she keeps talking about as if it’s been renewed for its fourth season. However, when I called Lucas, he said that he might be going to Hanlan’s Point in the Toronto Islands today. Going to Hanlan’s with Lucas was more attractive than anything in that moment. Lauryn and I changed our plans, and were now going to set up shop pon de island. This was exciting!

First things first, Lauryn had to drop off her stuff at Kayla’s condo. Given that we had each eaten the equivalent of a full potato and pig for breakfast, we decided to make the journey by foot. Lauryn was also expressing concern with going to the beach, because it apparently wasn’t great for writing. What are you talking about? Laptops and sand are a match made in heaven! Plus, Lucas had invited me to join him at the beach. I couldn’t pass up that opportunity.

When we got to Kayla’s, Lauryn’s hangover had hit her hard. The girl was completely crashing. Our plans were about to change – again.

Something I’ve learned to deal with when hanging out with certain friends is that no plan is ever set in stone. At any given moment, there can be a complete shift and you will need to make new plans – i.e., last night. It also means “committing” to something you don’t really want to do, because you know it’s probably not going to happen.

I’m not used to that type of planning. When I say I want to do something, I always follow through. For example, taking a trip somewhere. I’ve had so many friends bail on vacation plans over the years that it’s now just easier for me to travel alone. I know that I can always count on myself. Well, at least when it comes to booking a flight.

Here’s the thing, though. I don’t want to be a bummer. That’s where the false “committing” comes into play. Instead of being a Negative Nellie all the time, it’s easier to simply agree with someone’s plans. Sure enough, those plans never materialize and then I’m off the hook. It’s perfect. I avoid sounding like a Debbie Downer, and there isn’t much risk. Although, given my track record with Lauryn and me not thinking things are “much risk,” maybe I shouldn’t say yes so often. I still cannot believe last night happened.

With Lauryn now out of commission, I began my trek to Hanlan’s Point alone. I wasn’t as tipsy as I was this morning, but the sassy hangover Kurt was lingering. I always find that I’m funnier when I’m hungover. Whether or not that’s the general consensus, I do not know.

I stopped for a shadoobie at the grocery store before I picked up some fruit and vegetables to bring to the beach. After a quick beer run, I made my way to the waterfront and managed to get myself a ferry ticket. Looking back, all of this seems a bit hazy. That’s probably because I went into the bathroom stall at the docks and filled a Starbucks cup with enough gin to give me a WUI – Walking Under the Influence. Regardless, I made it to Hanlan’s Point in one piece. My first island visit of the year!

I can’t tell if Lucas Ingraldi is one of those guys who keeps his phone in his bag and checks it once an hour, or if he’s actively ignoring me. I’m thinking the former, since he bikes a lot. Nonetheless, it was difficult to get a hold of him today. In hindsight, I should have just set up my own shop on the beach. Instead, I opted for a picnic table where I cracked open a beer and poured it into the champagne flute I brought with me.

After a full can, I got a message from Lucas. We met on the beach, and Lucas brought me to his group. When I arrived, it was Lucas, his girlfriend, and two European guys. The European guys were amazing. I was slightly jealous of their bodies, as it looked like they hadn’t eaten in about three years, but they were really nice, polite, and didn’t make me feel like a fucking freak. I wish I could say as much for the girl.

Like the disguised Ursula from The Little Mermaid, the girl’s name was Vanessa. She was very stand-offish. I didn’t like her vibe. Obviously, I was the odd one out here. The fifth wheel, if you will. I wanted to last longer than ten minutes, so I wasn’t looking to retaliate with the same attitude as Vanessa’s. I felt I was being very friendly, but Vanessa wouldn’t give me the time of day.

I don’t know, man. I find that a lot of people these days are so obsessed with the idea of an “image” or a “brand” that they have to uphold. If someone doesn’t fit that image, it’s like they don’t even exist. As if you aren’t worthy of them and their notoriety. Which, by the way, is really just this delusion of having “followers.”

Followers don’t mean fuck all. Being popular on social media is like being rich in Monopoly money. It means bupkis. Social media is nothing but a bunch of thirsty fuckers, all with the same idea of “brand” stuck in their otherwise empty heads. Complete morons, constantly looking for something to hold on to. Try crayons, you half-wits.

I think that’s where I struggle with Phillip, PW, and a lot of that generation. It’s is all so fucking stupid. Social media, that is. I’ll never get over the shit that PW spewed at me that night on his patio. I can’t believe someone would willingly admit to being upset over a lack of “likes” on a photo – to the point of what PW referred to as, “extreme depression.” What has become of society that this is how we live our lives? Unbelievable.

Vanessa and I weren’t meshing well. That was fine. Vanessa was a bit more relaxed near the end of the day – it helped that I brought cherries – but never to the point where I felt comfortable around her.

The European guys left shortly after I arrived, but not before they gave me a bite of their weed chocolate bar. I told you they were nice. The little darlings!

When I arrived at Lucas’s spot on the beach and was greeted by silence, I attempted to play Mariah’s The Emancipation of Mimi album though my portable speaker. During my first of many pee trips to the bushes, my speaker was turned off. Another strike against me by Vanessa. Add it to the list, girl!

My music was shut down because the guys seated behind us had brought a full-on fucking club speaker and were blasting their own jams. With some liquid confidence inside of me, I approached our neighbors, actively looking for the guy with the iPod in his hand.

“Do you like Mariah Carey or Janet Jackson?” I asked, ready to make my request.

“NO,” the guy responded bluntly, sending me scurrying back to my towel

About 15 minutes later, my ears began to twitch. I heard the opening beats of Mariah Carey’s “Breakdown” – one of my all-time favorite songs. All it took was one look at the guys behind me to instantly share a smile and a laugh. Naturally, I returned to their spot on the beach and we talked about Mariah. They were paying me way more attention than Lucas! Later, the guys also played “Fantasy.” Ugh. Leave it to Mimi to help me build new friendships!

Eventually, the European guys were replaced by Andy – my Instagram friend from Ross Brochant’s birthday in the park. It was nice to see a familiar face and break the awkwardness of Lucas and Vanessa’s silence.

I was still sipping beer from my champagne flute, but I can’t remember if I was high or not during all of this. I shouldn’t have listened to the European guys when they said to eat, “just a little bit,” of their weed chocolate. Don’t tell me how much chocolate to eat. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life!

The whole group was smoking cigarettes like fiends – myself included. At one point, I even took an extra cigarette from Lucas’s box and put it in my sunglasses case for later. Did I just call it a box? I don’t even know what it’s called. A carton?

What is happening to me, by the way? I’ve smoked more cigarettes in the past few weeks than I have in my entire life. It’s horrible. When I’m sober, you can’t pay me to smoke a cigarette. However, when I’m even one drink in, I immediately start looking for nicotine under my fingernails. Not my best look.

Also not my best look was how all over Lucas I was today. I didn’t see it as much of a problem during my time at the beach, as I thought that he was into me. Lucas even asked if he could wear my spare bathing suit. Not only that, but he then proceeded to strip down in front of me while changing – all while his uncircumcised penis dangled in front of my face. What was I supposed to think? My excessive flirting with Lucas was probably why Vanessa hated me. Although, she didn’t seem too concerned while she spent 20 minutes taking Polaroids of her titties.

I talked to Lucas a lot tonight. I asked him to hold my hand, and treated the whole encounter like a first date. A first date where the guys were really into each other. Unfortunately for me, that was definitely not the case. Looking back, I’m not sure why I made Lucas hold my hand so much. I was very, very forward with the guy. By the end of the day, I could tell that Lucas had had enough of me.

I like to rationalize. I’ll form narratives in my head to justify my actions, or even someone else’s. Instead of tuning into reality and realizing that this was not how you behaved with someone you’d just met, I rationalized today’s beach situation and circumstances to the point where I truly believed that everything was fine. It was literally me being clueless. In the moment, I didn’t know that what I was doing was inappropriate. I’m still rationalizing, though – even as I write this journal entry.

It was now time to leave Hanlan’s Point. Everyone at the beach had a bike, except for yours truly. Instead of leaving me behind to ride ahead with Andy and Vanessa, Lucas walked with me back to the ferry. He also sat with me for a while as we waited at the dock. In general, Lucas seemed interested in me. I was putting on a bit of character – I was also buzzed – but I didn’t think it was to the point of off-putting.

Lucas had to take a call from work as we were waiting for the ferry. That was actually part of my rationalization. I figured that Lucas’s lack of reciprocation was due to the phone call killing his vibe.

While waiting on a bench, Andy and I drank straight from his bottle of gin and talked about random things. I don’t remember much of what we talked about, but I know that I opened up about some of my insecurities and sadness. Hey, it was Sunday, after all!

Finally, the ferry had arrived. Lucas gave me a beer, and we toasted to a good day. When we docked at the mainland, everybody left on their bikes. I kissed Lucas goodbye. That was it. I would’ve liked to have spent more time with Lucas, but a quick exit seems to be his style.

Sometimes, I think I’m more into the chase. As if there’s this undying need inside of me to make guys I don’t even like that much fall in love with me. I get caught up in the moment, and want it all to happen so fast. I think that’s because when I’m really into something, I want it all at once. Yet, just like Montreal bagels, once I’ve had enough, I don’t want to even look at them for another six months.

It was getting late. I’d never been on the island after dark, actually. I think I got to Hanlan’s Point around 5 p.m., and we got back to Toronto around 9:30 p.m. In an attempt to walk off the garbage that I had ingested throughout the day and evening, I decided to walk home. I plugged into some Mariah music and began my trek to the Witch Cave – all with the intent of buying a pack of cigarettes at the closest convenience store. It took me about half an hour to find an open shop. What the fuck, Toronto? As soon as I bought a pack of Belmonts, I started smoking them. I wasn’t even five feet outside of the 7-Eleven.

When I arrived at the Witch Cave, I decided that my night wasn’t over. I was nearing the end of The Emancipation of Mimi album, which I was so rudely denied at the beach, and I wanted to get it out of my system. I wasn’t stoned, but the cigarettes were giving me a buzz that I continued to chase for the rest of the night. I didn’t have any weed, and alcohol was not an option at this point. I consumed so much sugar this weekend. I am almost positive that I have diabetes. Fuck those gin drinks.

Still outside the Witch Cave, I popped a squat underneath a giant tree. As Mariah’s songs played one after another, I inhaled one cigarette after another. Just when I thought I was done smoking because I had run out of matches, I decided that I would just light a new cigarette with the one I was already smoking.

“Fly Like a Bird” finished. My ears were bleeding from Mariah’s whistle notes, and it now was time to go inside. But, was I done? No! I wanted to flush out some creativity with this “high” I was on, and ended up smoking four more cigarettes in my bed. One after the other, as I watched Mariah Carey performances on YouTube, ugly cried, and posted the clips on Instagram. I also texted Lucas at 1:30 a.m. to ask if he was awake. After about 15 cigarettes, I packed it in and fell asleep.

I don’t know what came over me tonight. I don’t know if it’s some repressed sadness or anxiety that’s coming out and causing me to smoke like this, or if I’m just becoming that much of a mess.

Before I went to bed, I sent myself a text message:

Kurt (3:16 a.m.): “I see myself going down a bad path. But I don’t know how to stop.”

Goodnight xo

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